


Drover's Drabbles: Sisters Are Doing It For Themselves

by Shipperatheart1013



Category: McLeod's Daughters
Genre: F/M, Gen, Sisterhood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:36:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23530033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shipperatheart1013/pseuds/Shipperatheart1013
Summary: A collection of McLeod's Daughters drabbles, vignettes and ficlets about family bonding, sisterhood and a dash of romance on Drover's Run. I will add to this collection of vignettes as I gingerly stretch my writing muscles again. Mostly K, T at most. If smut happens (but I do hope so!) or rpf then I'll post that separately so readers who are not into that can easily skip them (I'm not sure yet what the mileage is in this fandom #YMMV).
Relationships: Alex Ryan/Clair McLeod (McLeod's Daughters), alex ryan/Claire McLeod
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	1. Sense & Sensibility

**Sense & Sensibility (1/?)**

* * *

"The family of McLeod had long been settled in the Gungellan region. Their estate was large, and their residence was at Drover's Run, in the center of their property, where, for many generations, they had lived in so respectable a manner as to engage the general good opinion of their surrounding acquaintance."

_(Opening line of Jane Austen's Sense & Sensibility, with only 3 details replaced)_

* * *

It's become our thing: evening chats.

Days on Drover's are a rollercoaster, I've found in these last few months since I've arrived here—it starts at dawn and it's a wild ride until dusk, everyone working on the farm like a maniac. A few hours of sleep and then the merry-go-round starts its frantic pace all over again.

It's been a steep learning curve for me and a constant struggle not to let Claire's slights deter me from learning the ropes. It's not until the evenings, after dinner, that things start to slow down a bit—well, enough to have a proper conversation anyway.

Even after a long day working together and eating supper together, Claire and I still find ourselves drawn together most evenings, steadily forging a relationship as sisters and even friends after almost a lifetime spent apart. When she finally stops taunting me for being an amateur long enough to let me get to know her, it turns out there's a pretty amazing woman in there—the kind that has no idea how amazing she is.

Though technically we are only half-sisters, I've never seen Claire as anything other than my sister. Even after a long separation, there's been an immediate kinship between us that we both crave—need. The kind you can't find with anyone else. I know we both feel it, even though we both struggle to put it on the line, still wrestling the demons of abandonment issues and rejection anxiety—just because my head can recognise it for what it is, doesn't mean my heart can simply let it go.

Who knew someone like Claire—a loner most of her life, according to Meg—would grow accustomed to these evening conversations, even seeking them out?

As I was learning about the farm life, hard work and the weight of responsibility for all these animals, we've gotten to know each other. We've fought, named stars, struggled for dominance, struggled full stop, but also found comfort in one another occasionally. It started from humble beginnings, with tentative and sometimes awkward conversations as we each sought, found, and pushed the boundaries of this fledging relationship.

There's a sort of quiet comfort in our chats on the veranda, in the bathroom, or shuffling across the hall in PJs to linger a bit longer in one of our bedrooms, while the low lighting creates a cosy, safe bubble for personal questions and stories.

Tonight it's Claire who lingers in the bathroom when we're brushing teeth, hovers around my door and finally pads in softly on bare feet when I motion for her to come on in, curious to know what's on her mind.

Decked out in flannel, Claire finds a spot on the mattress, leans back against the railing at the foot of the bed with her arms around her knees. When she fidgets with her fingertips like that, I've noticed it usually means she has something to say that she's a little anxious about.

While I brush my hair, I wait patiently for her to start talking instead of filling the silence with my easy chattering. My lingering by the vanity makes it easier for her to share her thoughts, I'm sure. I've found that it's more difficult for Claire to share confidences when people are close to her personal space. The physical distance feels safer for her. We'll work on that—but for now, I can be patient.

Not for the first time it seems like a tragedy to me that Claire has been brought up so differently from me: Taught to hold it all in, never open up about your feelings, your pain, vulnerability or insecurity. No one taught her that it was okay to let someone just be there for you, support you, and comfort you.

"You know, I admire you, Tess."

_What? Okay, I didn't see THAT coming…_

The hairbrush has stilled in its place, mid-strand. I'm about to start laughing when I realize she means it.

"When you first arrived you didn't know anything about how a cattle station runs. You didn't grow up on a farm like I did but look at you now; you'd never know the difference anymore."

She breaks into a smile that is warm and genuine. "I'd leave you in charge of the farm for a day anytime, Tess." Claire gives me an earnest look to underline her expression of trust. And by now, I know full well how precious a gift that is when it comes to Drover's.

The brush drops to my side—and almost to the floor. What have I done to deserve this?

It is the highest possible praise coming from my ridiculously capable sister, and my eyes prick a little at that so I duck my head to hide it, which is ironic considering my thoughts a few moments before.

However, it's been harder than I like to admit to myself, being here and not knowing how to do anything. It's been hard with Claire's constant teasing about my ineptness, when all I wanted was to bond with my sister after almost a lifetime spent apart. All those years I spent missing her, and yet we've had a rough start. Until about five seconds ago, I wasn't sure I was more than merely _tolerated_ as a contributor.

Perhaps even more so than when Claire gave me my first proper pair of work boots, my heart leaps hearing Claire say that, finally feeling _accepted_ for the first time since I've arrived.

Claire has even more to say. "You've become as capable as any jillaroo around here, but..."

My face is splitting in a delighted smile and I lift my head to show Claire that. It's obvious that she has put a lot of thought into this, and makes the effort to speak from her heart. It deserves my whole-hearted attention _and_ appreciation.

Feeling too much distance between us, I cross the room to join her on the bed and sit down on the mattress close to her feet.

A beat of hesitation tells me that the next part is what has really been keeping Claire's mind occupied, and fuelled her stalling before she came to talk to me. She pulls on her finger nervously. "You also know how to still be _a girl_."

Her small frown betrays that she's still slightly befuddled by the concept, even though I've seen small changes under my not-so-gentle prodding.

I'm not sure I understand what she means by that, whether she means my personality or the way I dress or how differently I interact with the men in her life. Probably all of those things. I'm open, trusting, I demonstrate my affection, and I'm just as comfortable in jeans by day as in a dress in the evening.

Claire grew up around all men all the time; the only thing she learned since childhood was how act like one of the guys. She never learned how to flirt properly—while to me, it is second nature, something that happens almost without conscious effort. On the other hand, I don't command their respect the way my sister does with her skills.

I quietly nod my appreciation for my big sister's compliment, but the self-deprecating commentary that's hiding inside it is not lost on me, so I respond to the latter part of what she said because it feels like that's what Claire needs to hear most. "So do you. You just needed a little encouragement that you can be both."

Finding Claire's eyes, I add the emphasis, "That it's _okay_ to be both." Not giving her a chance to feel self-conscious, I add on a lighter note, "If that's not something Jack could give you, then thank bloody heaven I showed up when I did!"

There you have it: the universe's plan for us. We're both in a unique position in this particular place and time to teach each other something that no one else can.

When I start to snicker, Claire looks at me curiously and a little suspiciously.

"We're Sense and Sensibility", I observe with wonderment and a smile.

"What?"

I know Claire was never much of a reader, and it suddenly dawns on me that she didn't finish school.

"Jane Austen," I explain. "It's about two sisters who live together in the English countryside. One is a bit too serious and the other is a bit too spirited. It's when they learn from each other that they become the best version of themselves and THEN they both find happiness—and a dreamy bloke to marry of course," I round up with a grin.

Frankly, I'm not sure about the dreamy blokes around here, but who knows?

In between the lines is another message, a gentle encouragement: _If you act like more of a girl—let people in, be more gentle—it doesn't make you less admirable than you are now, it just adds to all the wonderful parts that are already there. There's nothing to be afraid of._

Nobody's perfect, certainly not me. The beauty of forming relationships with others is in changing people and letting people change you. I certainly already am—and I know I'm all the better for it.

Claire has been making a lot of headway lately in opening up about her thoughts and feelings. It even shows now in her silent acknowledgement of hearing and understanding my unspoken message. Because I'm sure the old Claire, the one I met a few months ago, would have just scoffed and walked away from me when unable to process something.

But some things _never_ change, and the competitive side of her isn't about to let her younger sister win an argument. So Claire produces what Tess has come to call the famous Claire McLeod Eye roll of Death and the lopsided mocking smile to go along with it. "You're such a _girl_!"

Yet the twinkle in her eye signals her self-mockery this time around, and she makes sure to let me see it before she scrambles up from the bed. And before she leaves the room, pokes her head around the door one more time with a goofy smile and whispers, "Goodnight..."

Only time will tell what kind of future is in store for me – and my sister – here at Drover's. But evenings like these feel like one step closer to a happy ending as Jane Austen wrote it: "and among the merits and the happiness of Elinor and Marianne, let it not be ranked as the least considerable, that though sisters, and living almost within sight of each other, they could live without disagreement between themselves."

It's been quite the winding road for Jack's daughters: after a few blissful childhood years spent together at Drover's, our separation stretched for almost two decades, and my return to Drover's has certainly had a rocky start.

But...we're finding our way; we'll negotiate common ground—and who knows, maybe the universe will even throw in a couple of husbands as a bonus.

* * *

_End notes:_

It's never explicitly addressed in canon, but so much of McLeod's Daughters screams that it's Jane Austen, only transported to a different time and place. There's the theme of Sense & Sensibility (featured in this ficlet) and of Pride & Prejudice (Liz Ryan looking down on the Drover's girls). There is also a resemblance in the rural setting with very distinct mores and social etiquette specific to that geographical area and social class (Tess is nearly driven to desperation trying to figure out what they are, exactly). There are so many parallels, so I couldn't let it lie.


	2. Hot and Bothered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for 2x04 The Bore War. A heatwave and a drought leads to a protracted conflict between the Drover's girls and the Ryan brothers over who should be allowed to use the scarce water supply. This 'missing' scene takes place after Alex catches Tess putting a hose in the Killarney swimming pool to steal their water. Alex needs to find another place to swim, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New theme "The Kiss That Missed": A scene in any episode in which Alex and Claire COULD have kissed.

* * *

_Author's notes_ : Corona virus, against all odds, turns out to have its unexpected upsides as well—cocooning at home, I found my stash of McLeod's Daughters season 1-2, as well as some precious writing time, in a serendipitous combo with some blessed inspiration. This fic was also inspired by "The kiss that missed"—a concept I have shamelessly stolen from the lovely ForAReason, who wrote a whole wonderful series for Bones (sadly, she's taken it down… 🙁 ): a moment in any episode when Claire and Alex COULD have kissed. Unlike the extremely prolific ForAReason, I'm pretty sure I won't manage a fic for EVERY ep in 3 whole seasons of McLeod's Daughters but I'm enjoying this concept so I might try my hand at a few more over time. Valiant attempt made at aussie!speak, but I'm no native speaker and my only education consists of watching McLeod's Daughters and the Flying Doctors, so please forgive me if I stuff it up sometimes.

* * *

**The Kiss That Missed: Hot and Bothered**

Eleven PM counted as the middle of the night at a cattle station, where work started as early as 5 AM.

When Alex climbed out of his ute, it was still balmy, if not stuffy—at least 20 or even 22 degrees or higher.

Granted, it no longer felt like the surface of Mercury the way it had during the day, when the thermometer had peaked at 38 degrees, but it was by no means a cool night. He was comfortable wearing just his swim shorts and a singlet, sauntering to the dam on his thongs.

The small lake created by the dam was – although considerably smaller than in the rainy season during the winter months – still big enough and deep enough to be quite useful for swimming during summer. Night swimming in particular was his favourite: swimming under the stars. It was always a big hit to bring girls here for skinny dipping. But not tonight: all by his lonesome this time.

He longed for a quiet dip in the cool water with just the stars and the crickets to keep him company. His mind was overheating and not just from the blazing summer sun. His brother's troubles over the water shortage with his own best mate, Claire, were frustrating to say the least. Hopefully a bit of splashing around would cool off both mind and body.

Normally, the Killarney swimming pool was the best kind of luxury during a heat wave: 24/7 unfettered access to a nice cool dip in the water. He had carefully weighed his options a half hour ago, when he caught Tess red-handed dunking a hose into the Killarney pool that unmistakably belonged to the water tank on the Drover's Run ute.

He had no idea what Tess planned to do with the water, but he could appreciate her moxie. Technically, she was stealing Killarney's water, and he could not only stop her but even have her arrested if he wanted to. But that would spoil the fun of Harry finding his swimming pool half empty, wouldn't it? He reckoned Harry deserved a little revenge after the cold-hearted way he'd sabotaged Nick's farm this afternoon by taking away all his tools and cattle from Wilgul.

For tonight, he'd settle for a dip in the lake by the dam, for old times' sake. Good times, ever since they'd been little kids. And anyway, Harry would make sure the pool would be filled up again tomorrow.

When he'd arrived at the shore and tossed his singlet over his head to join his towel in the grass, he suddenly stopped in his tracks with his thumbs hooked in the waistband of his shorts.

There, in the middle of the lake, a shapely female figure floated serenely on the surface of the water, the slow movements of her arms just enough to prevent him worrying about her well-being. The full moon illuminated the pale skin of her legs, contrasting with the pitch black of her bathing suit, the inky blackness between the stars, and the dark waters surrounding her.

Even though he couldn't make out her face at this distance and in the darkness, he instantly knew who he'd stumbled across, with the same itch to scratch as he had, and the same serendipitous timing.

* * *

As soon as Claire had set one foot in her bedroom she knew sleep would not be forthcoming any time soon.

The ancient stone walls, south-facing with the blazing sun burning down on it all day, had turned the room into a veritable _oven_. She'd be looking forward to tossing and turning half the night, sticky and hot even with barely of stitch of clothes on her body, and reduced to fanning the bed sheets every few minutes just so her brain wouldn't cook.

It would remain at least 27 degrees in there for hours, even if she opened all the windows to let the slightly cooler night air offer a bit of relief. But those screen windows to keep out the mozzies were a really solid investment in at least a couple of decent hours of sleep even during a heatwave. Even Gordon the Gekko couldn't protect her from all of them.

She was used to hot summers, as far back as she could remember. But a scorcher like this could knock down even her. It wasn't as if she had the luxury of taking it easy just because it was hot; Taking the extra effort to double check that the wind mill was still pumping up water, make sure all the animals had enough water, and the horses weren't suffering heat strokes had ended up leaving _her_ overheating. So, on a night like this, there was only one thing left to do.

Quickly changed into a bathing suit and with a couple of towels tossed into the ute, it was only fifteen minutes later that she was floating in a cool, serene, liquid _heaven_. It seemed a bit silly to wear a swimsuit with no one around but...force of habit, probably.

Floating on her back, gently swooping to stay afloat, she looked up at the starry sky and spotted Tess' star as well as her own, and finally relaxed a bit from the heat, the stress of the water shortage, and the conflict she'd had with Nick – until they had finally found a solution this afternoon. Well, _she'd_ found it.

The small lake by the dam was perfect to cool off enough to sleep. It would be heaven, taking a dip in the lake until her body temperature dropped a few degrees, and then letting the water dry up from her skin in the night air. Besides that, it was a perfectly serene spot, even during daytime, but especially now with a full moon and all the stars out in full force, and no one to keep her company but the crickets.

That's why she nearly had a heart attack when a noise and a voice indicated that a stranger was invading her quiet moment alone. Who on earth and with what purpose, at this time of night?

"Mind if I join you?" A voice loudly blared across the quiet pond. At the same time, she heard footsteps splashing around near the shore, only a stone's throw away from her.

Her every nerve was instantly alarmed and she scrambled from her supine position to a standing one so she could fight or flight if need be, frantically splashing around to straighten up and find her footing in the sand.

Well, maybe not a stranger after all...

She hadn't even heard a ute or a dirt dike signalling his approach, even a horse she should have heard in the stillness of the night. Had she been _that_ enthralled by the water and the stars, or was it just because he'd been quiet and downwind from her?

"Jesus! Alex? You scared me half to death!" she exclaimed, the sound booming in the quiet of the night. Her heart was still hammering in her chest, her breathing shallow and fast.

And that dickhead was laughing at her for being startled.

"What the hell are you doing out here this time of night, Claire?" he asked, still chuckling softly and shit eating grin firmly in place.

Suddenly it was a bit embarrassing to have been so startled. Who else would find their way out here, smack dab between the properties of Drover's and Killarney in the middle of the night, except one of the other Drover's girls or one of the Ryan brothers?

"It was the only place I could think of to find water and cool off a bit," she explained, gradually forcing her breathing and her heart rate to slow down again.

The swimsuit proved a _really_ good choice in hindsight. If she believed in premonitions, that would have made sense as an explanation for deciding to wear it. But even the swimsuit didn't cover or hide much of her body. Suddenly self-conscious, she bent down through her knees until only the tops of her shoulders and outstretched arms were visible above the waterline.

When Alex moved to walk a little further into the water, Claire noticed the towel and shirt at his feet, and it became clear that he intended to join her for a swim. He was already up to his knees in water and bent down to splash some water on his sweaty face and hair.

She volleyed a question back at him as it occurred to her, "What are _you_ doing here? Don't you have a swimming pool of your own at Killarney?"

Alex shook his head and huffed a laugh that she couldn't quite place. "Yeah. Well, not right now. It's half empty."

He waded in further, waist-deep with just his broad shoulders bathed in moonlight sticking out above water, tapering down to his hips. He closed his eyes and hung his head back with a gratified sigh, almost a moan, undoubtedly luxuriating in the coolness of the water just as she had when she first dove in.

She took the opportunity to unabashedly let her eyes graze his strong shoulders, tanned golden from working in the sun all spring and summer long, and the smattering of light chest hair trailing down to his...shorts, his _shorts_ , just as his flat stomach began to disappear below the waterline. Alex was built so differently from Peter, who had a strong but lithe frame. She supposed Alex was alright to look at, you know, if you were into that sort of thing ( _tall and virile and broad-shouldered_ ).

Claire snorted a laugh, distracting herself from her own thoughts, and asked sarcastically, "What? Did it evaporate?"

Alex pulled a face again. Clearly, he knew something he wasn't willing to share. "Something like that..."

His next move caught her by surprise, even though it shouldn't have, knowing Alex as long as she did ( _forever_ ). He suddenly dove forward, like a dolphin, jumping up in an arc and then diving under water. When he resurfaced, after clawing at both her thighs like a scary sea monster, they were only a foot apart.

She was still shrieking and hands raised in a defensive posture when he popped up and shook his head from side to like a wet dog, droplets flying everywhere in a halo of water, including in her face. Eyes still closed, he laughed and pushed his hair back from his face.

In one fell swoop, she doused him with a face full of water in revenge for his underwater attack, and let out an exasperated groan. "Argh! You're lucky I didn't kick you!"

Alex was just _laughing_ , the dickhead, holding his hands up in mock surrender. The mockery became clear when he retaliated by sending a big wave her way to splash all over her, and the next few moments were filled with the sounds of shrieks, laughter, splashing and thrashing in the water that signified an old-fashioned war of water.

The war ended in a tie—and whoops of laughter, that slowly dissipated into chuckles as they became tired of the strenuous activity of creating waves, and segued into slowly bobbing up and down in the water. The point was to cool off—not overheat themselves again with exertion.

This was just like old times, just like hundreds of times before, since they were kids. Except, they weren't kids anymore. They were two adults, alone in the night, swimming at a remote spot where she was certain they'd both taken partners before for naked night swimming and...other activities.

When dad was still alive, she couldn't very well bring a bloke back to the house for anything that involved being in the nuddy—not if she wanted said bloke to live, anyway (why she'd never questioned that this lasted even well into adulthood was beyond her now). And she wouldn't be surprised if skinny dipping by the dam was also one of Alex' favourite ways to talk a girl into taking her gear off for him.

"Truce?" Alex offered, following in his brother's footsteps. It was quickly accepted with a nod and a smile, still half distracted.

He stared at for a few moments, almost starting to worry her, before he finally asked the question that seemed to be bothering him, "So eh...what if you and Nick can't work it out?"

Frowning and a little sad, Alex seemed genuinely worried and distressed. For the first time, Claire fully realised how much had been at stake, besides water and money: A lifelong friendship between her and the Ryan brothers also hung in the balance, and it had been a close call. Too close. Besides, she couldn't help but wonder how much her current romantic involvement with Peter Johnson had disturbed the equilibrium between Drover's and Killarney recently, or more specifically between her and Alex. His ribbing had been mostly gentle and good-natured, and yet the tension and his apprehension had been unmistakable.

Alex' question also made her realize that he hadn't talked to Nick yet; not since Alex had witnessed the exchange between Harry and Nick at Wilgul that afternoon. Alex was obviously unaware of the conversation she'd had afterwards with Nick, in which they'd finally resolved the situation. Ironically, Harry had handed the solution to them on a silver platter by taking his cattle away from Wilgul. Talk about life giving you lemons and making lemonade.

Claire smiled, satisfied with her own creative thinking, Nick's agreement and both their willingness to apologise for their harsh words.

"Actually, we have. We've come to a mutually satisfying solution. Thanks to Harry."

She was pleased to see Alex' face light up with relief—and a combination of bemusement and amusement at the latter part of her statement, which was exactly why she'd added that bit.

"Really," he observed in surprise.

Her grin widened. "Yeah, really."

At his questioning look, she explained with illustrative hand gestures, "Harry took _his_ stock back to Killarney from Wilgul so...we moved Drover's mob to Wilgul to agist, and now there's no problem with Nick using the water." Finally, both palms flipped up as if to say "that's all" with a self-satisfied grin.

Alex' mouth literally fell open on an incredulous laugh as the brilliant simplicity of the plan sunk in. "Ha! No way." But he couldn't hide that he was impressed with the solution: clever _and_ sticking it to Harry at the same time. Certainly Alex could appreciate that.

Never one to pass up the opportunity to brag to the overly self-confident Alex about her success, she beamed a smug grin at him, proudly asserting, " _I_ am a genius."

Her success in trying to goad him was instant when he exclaimed a sceptical "Oh!" and burst out in incredulous, jeering laughter. "You're _dreaming_ , Claire!"

Her face fell, while her blood pressure went up.

Under any circumstances, she revelled in this kind of teasing and goading; par for the course between them. But not tonight. Not after today.

Dammit, Alex was such a child! After spending much of her time lately with the much more mature Peter, it brought sharply into focus what a juvenile brat Alex could be sometimes. And just like that, she had enough of bloody Alex Ryan, and the water was starting to feel cold, and she was just...tired.

"It's late. I should get some sleep," she said curtly as she began to swim back to the shore.

"Hey! Claaaiiire," Alex whined from behind her, but she ignored him.

Back on the shore she quickly patted dry with a large towel, wrapping it around herself, and sat down on her smaller towel to put her thongs back on her feet.

When Alex followed her back onto dry land and sat down next to her on his own towel she staunchly continued to ignore him, thoroughly annoyed by now.

Maybe she was overreacting, and she didn't need him to heap his praises on her or anything, but his jeering came on top of the conversation they'd had earlier that afternoon, when tempers flared – as usual – between them.

His jab of "God help the bloke you do marry, Claire" still bounced around in her head like a pinball and continued to piss her off, even hours later.

Just because she had blurted out – okay, probably out of nowhere _from his point of view_ – that if she married Peter she would still be the boss of Drover's, and no it was none of his business if things were that serious with Peter, and coincidentally the same would apply if she were to marry Alex; just because she needed to make it perfectly clear that she would _always_ be in charge of Drover's no matter what, that didn't give him the right to make her out to be some kind of...domineering shrew who would make any man's life miserable!

She pursed her lips to silence herself but the frustrations just came tumbling out of her mouth regardless, increasingly high pitched. "First you try to bully me into talking to Nick to work something out, then you accuse me of being obsessed with being independent, and then I go and talk to Nick and I come up with a brilliant solution that makes both Nick and me happy, and all you do is ridicule me. What the hell do you want from me, Alex?"

"Claire," he began, hesitant, plaintive. The soft click of his tongue against the roof of his mouth when he said her name was achingly familiar, and the tender note in his voice made her instantly regret lashing out at him. Maybe the heat was getting to her, on top of all the stress over the conflict with the Nick.

The full moon peppered specks of platinum on his head, reflecting on the dark wet hair, as he hung his head between his arms slung across his knees, and he let out of long breath through his nostrils before he spoke. "Look. You know I can be an annoying dickhead but yes, I admit that was a pretty brilliant solution-"

Even though her anger had fizzled, this was Alex Ryan, the most arrogant, self-satisfied bloke for hundreds of miles around, admitting to her _for once_ that she had a good idea. So a rare chance to rub his nose in it and milk it for all it was worth was simply too good to pass up. Maybe a return to their usual one-upmanship was actually the best way to steer them back to normalcy.

She poked her elbow in his side, ribbing good-naturedly, "Aha! You admit that I'm a genius?"

She could feel rather than see his smile. "I didn't say that, but I admit that was a pretty smart idea, _smartass_ ," he teased right back.

She'd made the right call.

"There's nothing wrong with my ass," Claire quipped, feigning innocence as if she didn't know she was being a brat—but two could play that game. And she and Alex? They were masters at it. This kind of banter – the charge and parry, thrust and counterthrust – it was their thing, their comfort zone, and they both knew it. Relished it.

He actually chuckled at that and took it as encouragement to come back with an eyebrow raising zinger, "I admit there's nothing with your ass, too. Now will you let me finish?"

_Wait, when did he start appraising her ass?_ She decided to ignore that question—for now. Stuck halfway between grudgingly and graciously, Claire signalled her acquiescence with a look.

They exchanged warm smiles, letting the moment hang comfortably between them. Until Claire became very aware of Alex sitting awfully close to her while they were both very undressed, and she stared at him for a moment too long, mesmerised by his closeness. By him. Wet. Tan. Gorgeous. Then she abruptly directed her gaze straight ahead and focused on a point across the dam. Anywhere.

He cleared his throat to continue. "Thank you, Claire, for coming up with a brilliant solution and for making peace with Nick. I'm really, really glad that's sorted out."

Again with the plain-spoken honesty. _Who are you and what have you done with the real Alex?_

"Yeah. Me too." Now why did that have to come out as a scratchy whisper?

But Alex had more to say. "Our friendship means a lot to me and uh...I'd hate to see bad blood get between you and my brother. And us. So, Claire of the UN, thank you." Acting on impulse, he moved to press a kiss on her cheek.

However, in that same moment she half turned to face him. "You said that al-" She froze mid-sentence when his lips didn't land on her cheek as intended but on the corner of her mouth instead—and lingered there. "-ready..."

Taking advantage of the way her lips parted on the last part of that word, Alex suddenly captured her bottom lip between his own lips.

Claire froze...but didn't retreat. What a strange yet wonderful sensation. Her skin, still cool from the water and the night sky, enveloped by his warm lips. The prick of his 5 o'clock shadow against the sensitive skin. For the briefest moment, neither of them moved. Even the air in her chest refused to move.

Then she felt a gossamer breath caress her upper lip, before Alex moved to close his lips around that, too. God help her, she countered the pressure of his lips with her own, making it a real kiss.

As kisses go, it was nothing much, just the barest brushing of lips, but the soft slide of his mouth across hers was electric, setting every nerve on fire. Over and over and over again. _Holy shit._

It seemed they had been gravitating towards this moment all summer. Hell, they'd been gravitating towards this ever since the athletics carnival at school, fifteen years ago.

And yet other people in other places, no matter how far away ( _Queensland, Peter's home; and wherever the hell 'Shelley' came from_ ), could not be ignored for long.

_Why now? Why now?_ a voice chanted in her head. _Fifteen years_ , just mates, nothing more. Alex had never cracked on to her like this, and _just_ when she had herself convinced that he just didn't see her that way, he went and did this—right at the moment Peter had come along and she wasn't free to explore...this, whatever the hell it was. It was wrong.

With a frustrated growl, she pulled back and turned away, rubbing her lips together in a way that couldn't quite make up its mind whether it was ignominious or revelling in the memory of his lips there.

"I can't do this," she simply stated.

"Sorry," he mumbled, automatically.

_Where the hell did that come from anyway?_

"Guess the heat must have scrambled our brains, hey?" Alex was letting her off the hook, Claire realized. He offered her an out.

Her relationship with Peter, but also their friendship, would probably be well served if she took it.

Hating herself for it, she half-heartedly agreed, "Yeah, yeah that must be it."

But a sliver of guilt remained, because that wasn't the whole story, and they both knew it. What, why, how— _what the hell just happened here?_

She shot up from the towel as if someone had prodded her, snatching it up as she went and snapping it to shake off the sand in one hurried move.

Confused and pained by the unfairness of leaving him hanging with the fallout from what just transpired here, Claire whispered a strangled, "I have to go."

She started hoofing it back to her ute as fast as the thongs would allow, clutching the towel protectively around herself, until Alex' voice called after her. When she turned, she found him standing up as well, suddenly looking very forlorn and lonely.

She really should have known better: Alex wore his arrogant self-confidence like the emperor's new clothes. Tonight, he had finally revealed what she should have seen all along: A scared boy who likes a girl, and wants her to like him back. There was a frightened little kid in there, scared of showing how he feels, terrified by rejection (no wonder with a father like Harry Ryan). Not much more capable of expressing himself than a schoolboy, his perpetual teasing and bullying seemed mostly a clumsy way to get her attention—for _who knows_ how long. The truly scary part? Maybe she'd been no better, for all these years.

"Claire?"

She scrunched her eyes shut, bracing for the worst.

_Oh god, no, I can't have this conversation right now. Don't ask me questions I can't answer, and things I can't give you, while your mind – just like mine – is probably conjuring up an alternate reality in which Peter never came along. Please..._

"Yeah?" she answered gingerly.

His shoulders were hunched in defeat. She could read the worry in his eyes and a sliver of panic at her leaving, both evidence of his _need_ to keep their friendship safe.

There were a lot of things he could have said, but instead he just sighed deeply, hanging his head for a moment before he locked eyes with her again. "Drive safely, will you?"

The naked truth in his eyes was frightening and difficult to watch.

_I care about you, Claire. I need you. Even if you can't give me what I want._

But he didn't say it out loud, thus giving her the option to ignore it. He let her off the hook—again.

The part of her that wanted to pretend this was all him, his own fault for giving in to the rash, stupid and inappropriate impulse to kiss her, was quickly silenced by the tingle on her lips, the galloping heart rate, and the low throb between her legs.

It would have been easy to use denial and lay it all at his feet, but there was no doubt in her mind that at the slightest hint of anything other than shock and hesitation on her part, he would have stopped. Her own eager participation rendered any attempt to thrust responsibility away from herself moot. This was both of them, willingly. And while tonight hadn't brought resolution, she'd wanted it just as much as he did—and now he knew it.

So where did that leave them? Where did it leave Peter? How could they carry on being best mates as before and pretend nothing had happened? How would she face Peter when he came back to Drover's, and walk into his eagerly waiting arms again? These were questions that couldn't be answered tonight, maybe not even tomorrow. She was too tired, too confused.

With a small nod she acknowledged his attentiveness for her safety and the fact that he had probably been considering saying something else but spared her the challenge of dealing with his feelings right now.

"Goodnight." And with that, she turned to open her car door.

His answer echoed faintly from behind her, "G'night."

While cutting across the darkened paddocks to drive home, her mind conjured up memories of some of the devastating bushfires she'd witnessed, consuming and destroying everything in their path, merciless and unstoppable. But her mind also unstoppably kept segueing back to good memories, recalling her fondest memories of Alex, going back to their childhood. Life without Alex was...unimaginable.

It drove home the point: Don't play with fire. Some flames shouldn't be fanned, or they might turn into a bonfire that could destroy everything.

But, at the same time, tonight had served to hammer home the fact that two flames were burning in her heart.

The question was which one would win out: the new flame, or the one that had burned longer…

* * *

_End note_ : Okay, so the kiss on the cheek that accidentally ends up on the lips? Yup. Cliché. Guilty as charged. But sometimes clichés are clichés because they just _work_ , so I hope you enjoyed! Stay safe and healthy, please take extra good care of yourself and each other.


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